Logs:Kinder Lessons
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| RL Date: 25 May, 2015 |
| Who: R'van, Irianke |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke pries R'van's secrets loose. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| One of the pleasurable duties of her rank is assisting in teaching the silver thread dance classes, a task Quinlys has begrudgingly consented to. The latest class has concluded, the weyrlings dismissed and Irianke lingers, her steps light as she dances from one foot to the other, replaying steps and recollecting some fond memory. And of course, Vadevjiath is there, listening in from his vantage from the back, an intent lurker if there ever were one. R'van waits until the lecture is done before he appears; it wouldn't do to even give the appearance of interest. When he steps into the training room and past Irianke, he greets Irianke with a faintly surprised, "Weyrwoman," like he didn't know she was the one teaching this or something. Irianke's steps fall still at R'van's approach a sudden warm smile surfacing, one hand still outstretched as if holding onto a partners hand in a version of the waltz. The fingers curl, beckoning for someone to claim them. "R'van. And how is Vadevjiath?" It's the polite question, with an answer that could be easily sussed by Niahvth but isn't. "He's well," R'van answers with one brief glance to the bronze. "Learning. They are such sponges at this age." When he turns back to look at Irianke, her pose earns a bemused, half-skeptical expression, all the way down to those beckoning fingers. "Are we dancing today, Weyrwoman?" "If you'd like to learn," says Irianke, though her hand does fall now when it goes unclaimed. It would seem the offer is now expired, in spite of her words. "I don't remember that age well. I've blocked it from my brain, is what a good mindhealer would probably say. I'd hazard I've better memories to fill those spaces with and better lessons learned in kinder ways." "I never had enough offers to make it seem worthwhile," R'van explains, a touch of apology but not regret in his voice. No dancing for them tonight. As for the dragons-- he casts a quick smile for that, equally rueful. "I suppose that's the benefit of hindsight. For those of us in the moment, still awaiting kinder lessons..." Irianke laughs lowly, heedless of the other weyrlings who walk past towards the bowl who look over in interest. "You would be surprised at how Impressing a dragon seems to change the outlook of would be dance partners versus that of an apprentice." His return on kinder lessons has the weyrwoman's eyes narrowing. "You have a kind enough weyrlingmaster, you've had kinder masters than you might have found here. Tell me, R'van, why did you flee your craft? Anger? Fear?" She pauses and repeats again, looking to suss some reaction. "Fear?" The abrupt closedness of R'van's face is an answer in itself: she's found the one question that cuts through. His lips purse. This time, he cants one look askance at the cavern, empty except for them and Vadevjiath, before finally releasing a breath. "Guilt." Silence is Irianke's answer. The kind of still silence that waits. "You recommended me for promotion," R'van says after a moment; he doesn't meet her eyes but the set of his shoulders is still stubborn. "After the cave-in. And while I don't deny my skills were quite instrumental in the end, that was... evening the scales, for a mess of my own doing." She does not visibly react, perhaps not surprised by this admission or too long schooled in politics to let on about surprise. Irianke nods once, her gaze never leaving R'van's face even if he might not meet her gaze. "Can those scales really balance?" "To them?" Those in the cave-in. "I doubt it." R'van sounds frustrated about it more than anything. "Who else knows?" asks Irianke, her voice less neutral, more gentle now. "No one, presently," R'van answers after a beat, glancing up almost warily then. Irianke's hands rest, akimbo. "You will never find forgiveness or feel those scales balance unless you confess and you don't want to. It is not my story to tell," concludes the goldrider, her hands releasing her hips and a small shrug ending in a sigh. "Do not disappoint me, R'van." Irianke's hands rest, akimbo. "You will never find forgiveness or feel those scales balance unless you confess and you don't want to. It may not be wise to share it anyway, though it is not my story to tell," concludes the goldrider, her hands releasing her hips and a small shrug ending in a sigh. "Do not disappoint me, R'van." R'van, at least, seems to genuinely consider the advice, no brush-offs or arguments for once in his life. The latter admonition, though, earns a small frown at his lips, and then an honest question: "Have I not already?" "Oh, Rvan. Incurring my disappointment is a feat most people are incapable of accomplishing." Irianke's eyes stray to the barracks and then back to R'van, the smile reemerging, lighter though sympathy aches somewhere in her darkened eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your night." R'van seems not especially relieved by this, though he nods in acceptance of the fact. "Good night, Weyrwoman," he begins, though a hesitation follows before he spits out the next thought. "I'd like, at some point, to discuss my future options in my craft with you." Really? Really? Irianke's lifted brows say it all, especially in light of their current conversation. It's not precisely a denial of any such conversation, but the slightest shake of her head is filled with quite a lot of patronizing exasperation and the smile that's not a smile is the last thing given R'van before she's exiting the training area. R'van at least has the grace to look a little sheepish, his mouth twisting wryly now. "Thank you, Weyrwoman," he tells her then, as she's on her way out. And then he's collecting Vadevjiath to finish their evening, too. |
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